


Scheme

by RageSeptember



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Crossdressing, M/M, Rough Sex, Some Fluff, but this is mormor so that should go without saying, hints of dub-con, lots of dead bodies, porn with accidental plotting, powerbottom!Jim, top!Seb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RageSeptember/pseuds/RageSeptember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the Sebastian the best thing to do when having successfully completed a gruesome crime is to make a clean getaway as quickly as possible. To Jim... it is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scheme

Jim throws his head back and he laughs, all teeth and madness and mirth, and when Sebastian pulls his hair, hard, and growls: “Get it the fuck together, boss,” he only laughs harder.

His corset is torn (so much for steel) and so are the stockings, but his nails are dug deep into the sniper’s flesh and he leans forward to put his mouth to Sebastian’s neck, feeling the other’s steady pulse against his painted lips. He could bite down, sink his teeth into tanned skin damp with sweat, and taste the blood as it leaves the body in heavy squirts, taking Sebastian’s life with it. But his head is jerked aside and the taller man snaps: “Fuck’s sake, Jim, not here. Not now.”

That Sebastian would dare to tell him no might well be one of the main reasons why Jim has not yet tired of the man, but that doesn’t make a refusal any more pleasant. “Don’t be boring, Moran,” he calls out in a sing-song as he grinds against the other man, smiling as he can feel Sebastian’s erection pressing against his leg. The smile fades into a scowl as he is roughly pushed aside.

“Not _now_ ,” Sebastian repeats, jerking his head towards the dead bodies on the floor. “Get the fucking diamond and let's get the hell out of here." It is a reasonable enough request (or demand) but Jim doesn't happily do reasonable, and so he gives the sniper a very nasty glare as he moves across the bloodstained floor to open the safe (the combination? Oh, it was quite fun to acquire, but too easy, like everything is too easy, and Jim has long since tired of always, always, always winning).

 "I have the diamond," he tells Sebastian when he does, and reaches to right his torn corset and if he just so happens to drag his hand seductively along his collar bone, smearing blood over pale skin, well, what of it? Sebastian wants to keep this outing strictly business and pretend like he’s not dying to rip Jim’s clothes all the way off and fuck him against the wall while the corpses look on with unseeing eyes, well, that’s just fine and dandy. No _problem_.

 Jim’s hand slips down over his chest, down to the bulge in the black lace panties, and he offers the sniper a slow grin as he starts to stroke himself. “You go ahead,” he murmurs, casually throwing the diamond to the sniper. “I’ll just take care of this little problem that’s come up.”

Sebastian catches the precious stone without looking away from Jim, frustration mixing with disbelief. “Twelve dead fucking bodies,” the man growls. “Someone will have heard the gunshots and the police will be here any second.”

“Well then,” Jim says, moaning pointedly though his half-smile as he feels himself harden under his own fingers. “You had best let me get on with it. Or you could stop being such a boring little sniper and help Daddy out. I’m sure that would bring us both to a _satisfaying_ conclusion much, much faster.” His eyes, like his cock, harden, blazing black as the smile fades, leaving no room for compromise. “Because we are not leaving until I say we can.”

This is not just about sex anymore, not just about lust; this is about power, who has it (and that is Jim, it is always Jim, and Sebastian would do well not to forget that) and who must bend to it. For a moment – for another, and another – Sebastian just glares at Jim, hard face harder still when stiffened by anger. Doubtlessly the man considers the pros and cons of just tossing Jim over his shoulder and carrying him out of the hotel-turned-brothel-turned-front-for-the-Yakuza.

“Fine,” the sniper eventually and wisely snaps, carefully putting the diamond away in his bag before starting to undo his jeans. “Over the table, now.”

But Jim shakes his head. “Ah-ah. If you wanted to fuck me, Tiger, you should have done as told at once. Now you’ll just serve as my glory hole.” The smile is back, thin, sharp. “So how about _you_ bend over the table?”

“How about I don’t?” Sebastian retorts, advancing on Jim with a look on his tanned face that sends shivers of anticipation down Jim’s back. Oh, but he _does_ love to push the other too far… As the sniper grabs hold of his wrists and spins him around, forcing him down over the table, Jim lets out a choked little giggle, and when the man bloody well _tears_ off the panties the giggle becomes a mad laugh, high-pitched, gleeful, insane.

The smell of blood is almost overpowering as Jim is pressed down against the drenched tabletop, and that is good too. “Lube,” he trills as he can feel the other’s cock (stiff, as he knew it would be) press against his arse. “Lube, lube, lube!” He likes it rough, yes, but there are limits, even for him.

Well. Sometimes there are some limits.

Sebastian gives a low curse, but does let go of Jim to walk over to the cupboard and fetch lube (which is just as well, because if he hadn’t he would have woken up with his cock cut off tomorrow morning, and they would both have regretted that… ).

“You’re fucking lucky we’re in a damned brothel,” the man growls as he returns and roughly starts to work Jim open. “What if the Yakuza had run their business from a computer store, huh?”

“Then I dare say we would have found something else to suit our needs,” Jim notes, biting back an undignified moan as Sebastian’s fingers pushes into him, stretching him. “Some sort of oil in the staff kitchen or – fuck!” Sebastian laughs, not an entirely nice sound, and fingers Jim’s prostate again, making Jim squirm and yelp and ache.

Sebastian would have teased longer, Jim suspects, would have dragged it out, but the cops are surely on their way, and so Sebastian spreads Jim’s cheeks, growling into the smaller man’s ear: “You had better fucking brace yourself.”

Jim scoffs. “You talk big.” But he doesn’t even try not to arch his back and give a high-pitched moan as Sebastian pushes into him, fills him, thrusting much too hard and much too quickly right from the start, just the way Jim likes it.

“Shut the fuck up and come,” Sebastian tersely orders, words punctuated by skin slapping against skin, and his grip on Jim's hips is hard enough to bruise, _will_ bruise, leave lovely marks for Jim to examine at his leisure… The pain is exhilarating is pleasure is coupled with the delicious burning of the other fucking him as though he hopes Jim will break in half (and that might well be what Sebastian thinks he is doing, but for all the man acts as if this is a mere nuisance, a task he performs dutifully, angrily and against his better judgment, Jim can tell that his soldier is getting caught up in it too. There is a tension and a tautness to the other, and Jim knows that the man can smell what he smells – blood and sex – and feel what he feels – ripped lace against bared skin and a desperate urgency – and that this is every bit as good for the other as it is for Jim.)

Sebastian’s right hand moves to grip Jim’s throat, squeezing it, just so: “I could snap your neck before you even have time to realize what is going on,” the other growls, and Jim comes. hard and with a choked scream.

Spent, he sags over the table, whimpering a bit as Sebastian doesn’t let up, but thrusts again, one, two, three times, torturing Jim’s over-stimulated prostate before the sniper, too, comes. He’s quiet when he climaxes, is Sebastian, but as Jim is still riding on the wave of post-orgasmic bliss he can’t be bothered with getting annoyed over the other’s lack of ecstatic moaning or shouting.

For a moment all is still as they both recover, panting and with sweat gluing their bodies together.  Then Sebastian pulls out, quicker than is strictly pleasant, but Jim doesn’t mind; he never minds. He laughs instead and it is the lazy, satisfied sound of a cat’s purr and he doesn’t stir from the table. “Enjoyed yourself after all, Tiger?” he asks, wriggling his arse just a little, feeling the other’s come run down over his torn stocking.

Sebastian doesn’t reply, simply yanks Jim to his feet, and starts dragging him towards the door. “Can we leave now?” Sebastian demands, and for a moment Jim loathes the man, hates that the sniper always needs to be in control, collected, cool, and he wants to rip off that carefully blank face and dig into the tender flesh underneath and -

Jim laughs again, fury fading as quickly as it had flared. “Don’t forget the diamond, dear. And do hand Daddy a coat, I am hardly presentable like this.”

“The fuck you care about presentable,” Sebastian mutters, but he obediently pulls a brown coat off of one of the corpses and hands it to Jim, who makes a face – “Oh, that’s _lovely_...” – but puts it on all the same, draping it over his slim and disheveled frame like a kings’ mantle.

“You’re leaving quite some traces behind,” Sebastian notes with his hand already on the door handle and a nod towards the floor under the table, where Jim’s come is mixing with the blood of a particularly fat fake transvestite.

“Don’t fret, my precious,” Jim offers casually as he heads for the door. “I’ve got the place rigged to blow.”

“Oh, that’s _lovely_ ,” Sebastian mutters, doing his best to mimic the understated sarcasm Jim had lent the same word just a moment ago. Jim can tell that the other is wondering whether the explosion is controlled by a timer or will be set off on a signal from Jim, but of course Sebastian is too damned proud of his reputation as Mr. Cool to ask and Jim is not inclined to ease the other’s mind. No fun in that.

There is a car waiting for them outside, and less than half an hour later they are stepping through the door to the flat they share but which only and pointedly belongs to Jim.

 “Shower first, then food,” Sebastian announces, and Jim is still feeling too smug, too relaxed, too damn _mellow_ to protest the other ‘forgetting‘ just who is the boss here.

Later still, curled up on the bed as Sebastian cleans up in the kitchen, Jim fingers the stolen diamond, throwing it up in the air and watching the glint and sparkle of light reflected as it drops back into his hand.

“What are you, a bloody magpie admiring your glittering loot?” Sebastian asks as he enters the room, pulling his shirt off as he walks. “What the hell do you need that thing for anyway?”

“Nothing, really,” Jim says airily. “You can have it if you like.”

Sebastian had been about to join him in bed, but now the man pauses, head cocked slightly to the side, a frown creasing his brow. “Nothing? You spent the last few weeks preparing for the theft of something you don’t even need?”

“So it seems.” Jim smiles, but Sebastian is still frowning as he climbs into bed next to his lover.

“What was all this about then?” the sniper demands, and when Jim doesn’t immediately reply he repeats the question. "What the fuck was this about, JIm?"

Jim puts the diamond down on the nightstand and turns to face the sniper, the smile for a moment oddly gentle for all its dark complacency. “That was a rather amazing fuck, wasn’t it?” he asks lazily, and before Sebastian has time to demand a PROPER answer he continues: “Me, in that pretty outfit. All that blood, and you all worked up from killing, and trying so hard not to show it… The police on its way." His smile widens impossibly. "It WAS amazing.”

“Well, yeah,” Sebastian admits grudgingly. “But that’s not the point, that’s – “ He falls silent, on his face an expression of dawning realization quickly followed by exasperated disbelief. “Oh, for fuck’s sake - ! It was the point, wasn’t it? Jim, you can’t… you turned down at least three high-paying jobs in order to focus on this! We’ve spent weeks on it! All for a sodding _fuck_?!”

Jim’s smile never falters.

“Bloody hell,” Sebastian mutters, “I should have you fucking whipped.”

“Sounds interesting,” Jim yawns. “Maybe tomorrow.” He edges a little closer to the other, letting his hand travel suggestively down over Sebastian’s chest. “You can’t tell me it wasn’t worth it, though.”

The sniper slaps the hand away. “I really hope it was bloody fantastic, because you won’t be getting any more of it for at least a week.”

Jim raises one eyebrow. “Think you can resist me for that long, darling?” he all but purrs. “That sounds like a challenge to me.”

Sebastian sighs, but then he can’t help but laugh; Jim is just never not Jim. “It isn’t a challenge, you twat,” the sniper says, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him close, the action somewhat diminishing the impact of his next words: “I’m really pissed at you, okay? That was a such an incredibly shit-headed, idiotic thing to do, and all just for kicks and giggles. Pull something like that again and I will bloody well break your arms.”

Sebastian pauses, and for a moment all Jim, with his ear pressed to the man’s scarred chest, hears is the other’s steady heartbeat. Then the sniper adds: “Now go the fuck to sleep,” and because it has been a very long, very satisfying day, Jim - for once - does as he is told.

**Author's Note:**

> A very, very long time - maybe two weeks - ago I accidentally sent a small snippet of an on-going rp in an anonymous message to the amazing texturepresence over at tumblr. She seemed delighted, and I felt obligated to write her a proper anon fic. I have never done anything like that before, and I got a bit carried away...


End file.
